Page 155 of Damaged Goods

Each showed appreciation in their own individual way. Holden jumped up to drape himself over Kit’s shoulders, murmuring sugary nonsense in Kit’s ear. Bishop just leaned back, a soft smile tugging his lips, staring straight into Kit’s soul.

“Stressful tutoring session?” Bishop asked.

“How the fuck do you do that?” Kit complained, cuddling into Holden. But it wasn’t a surprise. Kit wasn’t as hard to read as he used to be. “It was the good kind of stressful. Last session was too easy.”

“Nothing wrong with the occasional easy day.” Bishop crooked his finger. “Let me try that daiquiri.”

Kit wriggled against his unmoving bonds. “If the octopus lets me move.”

“You only have to ask, angel,” Holden said, loosening his arms.

He kept one hand tanged in Kit’s hair, tugging and guiding Kit into the kiss. Bishop took his lips with quiet, gentle control. A gloriously easy moment. Kit sighed, relaxing.

Then he yelped at the sharp pinch to his nipple.

Kit straightened up, intending to invite them to the hot tub. But his eyes caught on Bishop’s laptop screen. “James is right, can’t you two relax for a minute?”

“This is relaxing,” Holden assured him.

Bishop tabbed away from the gory photo collage. “It’s time for a break—we’ve been working for a few hours.”

With the whole attack car debacle and James’s leave of absence, Holden’s post-graduation job at San Corvo Security was delayed. Working for Bishop’s private investigation business might be an even better fit, though. More dead bodies. Less legal and financial oversight.

Kit still helped when he could. All his men agreed that he shouldn’t have to work while he was studying, but it wasn’t like he was studying full time. Plenty of hours for sex and edibles and dumb phone games and investigating.

Mostly normal stuff. Catching cheating spouses, custody disputes.

Sometimes more exciting. They were developing a plan to execute San Corvo’s chief of police. The guy knew too much, and he was way too entangled with the Viper’s old connections. Darius was going to help with that. So was James, but with tech support, not hands-on. James’s bloodlust had cooled after avenging his family’s massacre.

Kit hadn’t seen today’s crime scene photos before. “New case?”

“The victim’s brother reached out to me.” Bishop tapped a plastic folder. “I think the victim’s daughter knows something, but she doesn’t trust anyone.”

“You think she might talk to me?” Kit asked.

“Worth a try,” Bishop said. “If you’re willing.”

“Give me the rundown.” That was Kit’s specialty: talking to people who couldn’t relate to normal people. Who didn’t realize how many supposedly normal people were actually fucked upinside, and that was okay. Kit reached out—and closed Bishop’s laptop. “After your break. Race you to the hot tub!”

“Don’t run by the pool,” Bishop warned.

Kit didn’t have a chance to run. He took exactly one step before Holden scooped him over his shoulder.

“You always have the best ideas,” Holden praised, one hand slipping between Kit’s thighs. The sweet pressure dissolved Kit’s reply into a heated whimper.

Hot water embraced them. Careful hands protected Kit’s head and neck as Holden pressed him against the edge, kissing him like a starving man. Kit moaned, reaching around Holden’s shoulders.

Water splashed. “Sharing is caring,” James announced, inserting himself into the embrace.

“I don’t care,” Holden said, deadpan, but made room.

The water sloshed again as Darius and Bishop joined them in the steam.

“There’s enough of me to go around,” Kit said, trying to sound lofty but mostly just breathless. “If you’re good.”

“Never,” Darius said, hoisting Kit into his lap.

“Good?” Bishop stretched out on the opposite side of the hot tub, clearly biding his time. “Look who’s talking.”

Kit rolled his eyes. “Of course I’m not good. I’m fucking perfect.”

That was all he managed before he was muffled, Holden’s mouth covering his, Darius’s hand on his throat, James groping his tender ass.

Kit had meant it as an exaggeration, but in that moment, it felt true. Forget being normal. Kit would rather be perfect—with the four dangerous, devoted men who were perfect for him.